


Mama

by WinterSnowWillow



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Victor Nikiforov, Canon Compliant, Loneliness, Multi, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Song Lyrics, Songfic, lyricfic, thats about it its just lonely victor, victor’s past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSnowWillow/pseuds/WinterSnowWillow
Summary: “I want to fly like that,” announces six year old Viktor Nikiforov as he watches the figure skaters on tv.“I’m sure you will someday,” replies his mother, ruffling his hair.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov & loneliness, Victor Nikiforov/exes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Mama

**Author's Note:**

> So. Another fic! This one was sort of experimental with the song lyrics, and I really like the way it turned out.  
> All song lyrics are from “Rockstar” by Call Me Karizma, which is potentially my favorite song...? It’s really good and I think it really fits the vibe I was going for here.
> 
> One other random note: in this fic Viktor is bisexual, because I thought it fit the song better and because it’s ~~sort of canon.~~  
>  **EDIT** : I’ve realized that that in the canon “Do you have a girlfriend?” scene, the word he uses actually translates more roughly to “lover” and I BELIEVE that is gender-neutral (Could be incorrect, I’m not Japanese). That said, he’s still bi here, but I thought that was a cool realization.
> 
> I do still love the 3000% gay and only gay Viktor interpretation too, so I‘ll probably use that more in later fics (especially since there are no canon mentions of girlfriends if I am correct here) It really depends on what makes sense in the context.  
> Also, I have no idea why all my fics so far are about Viktor’s exes, but...okay.  
> (Don’t worry, I have some future ideas planned that AREN’T about his past love life)
> 
> Well, I hope you enjoy reading~

_ I said Mama, I’m a rockstar _

Six year-old Viktor shifts on the couch, trying to get comfortable as his mother nudges him and points again to the picture book that he’s supposed to be reading. The television plays silently in the background, but Viktor is too busy coming up with excuses for why he shouldn’t have to read the book to watch. 

“Vitya, please,” scolds his mother as he tries to stand up, suddenly hungry for a snack. He pouts (he’s gotten very good at that lately) and turns his attention back to the book, which is about a fox who is too shy to make friends. It’s dumb, thinks Viktor. Why would he be shy? It’s always been easy for Viktor to make friends, so why can’t the fox just do the same?

He reads out a few lines to appease his mother, and then stops again. 

“This book is  _ boring. _ ”

His mother sighs. “Vitya, you only have five pages left.”

Viktor opens his mouth to protest that five pages is a lot, but then he happens to glances up. He starts to shriek.

“Mama, mama, look at him! He can fly!”

The man in question is named Alexei Urmanov, and he is one of the two Russian skaters to make the Grand Prix Final this year. Urmanov skates in a black suit with white triangles at the front, and both mother and son watch as his “flying” ends with a smooth landing into a complicated-looking spin. At six years old, Viktor knows just about nothing about figure skating, but now he knows one thing: he wants to do that someday. 

“I want to fly like that,” he announces, interrupting the commentators as they compare Alexei to Elvis Stojko, one of his competitors. His mother ruffles his hair, a soft smile spreading across her face. 

“I’m sure you will someday, Vitya.”

She signs him up for skating lessons the next week.

_ I’ma drive a sports car _

At eight years old, Viktor sits between his two best friends in class. Dasha, on his left, is a girl with blonde hair who laughs a lot. Ivan, on his right, is quiet but smart, with dark hair and blue eyes. The teacher should probably separate them, given how much they talk, but she always scolds them a little more gently than the others. Adults always love Viktor, and his friends by extension.

“Hey, Vitya,” Dasha whispers, leaning across the desk towards him. Their teacher is explaining a math problem that Viktor already finished, so he turns his attention to his friend. 

“Sofia’s dad got a new car! It’s super cool!” Dasha’s voice is still a whisper, but barely so as she struggles to contain her excitement. 

Viktor tilts his head. “What kind of car?”

Ivan glances over too, but more in a warning  _ teacher’s gonna get mad at you _ way. Viktor and Dasha ignore his warning.

“I don’t remember, but it’s something fancy. It’s big and black and shiny, and it looks  _ super cool!” _

Viktor raises a finger to his lips, thinking. “Black is kinda boring. I think I’d rather have a pink car.”

Dasha laughs, forgetting to be quiet. “A pink car! Vitya, that would look silly!”

Viktor shakes his head, and explains with the logic of an eight year old. “Not if it was an expensive car. I’d have to be rich, though. Then it would look even  _ cooler _ than Sofia’s dad’s car.”

“Viktor! Dasha! Pay attention,” calls their teacher. Ivan gives them a look.

Viktor just smiles to himself, starting to picture a bright pink convertible.

_ I’ma be on TV _

Viktor is nine years old as he watches Alexei Yagudin, Evgeni Plushenko, and Alexei Urmanov skate in the Grand Prix Final. He missed the other competitors while he was at school, but he isn’t too worried: there will probably be rewinds later. The three Russians are his favorites, anyways.

Viktor is competing too, in beginner-level competitions with his single jumps and simple step sequences. He’s recently been begging his coach to teach him doubles, but “wait until you’re a bit older” seems to be the only response he’s going to get. He frowns, thinking about it, but then turns his attention back to the current champions.

“I’m going to win the Grand Prix,” he declares. His mother looks over from the kitchen and smiles.

_ Mama, I’m a rockstar _

At thirteen years old and armed with fresh triples, Viktor goes to his first Junior Championship. He places third.

A well-known coach, Yakov Feltsman, reaches out with an offer. He accepts.

_ Stay up ‘til the moon sleeps _

It’s midnight, and Viktor is texting a boy. 

They’re not officially dating, partially because they’re only in middle school and partially because neither of them are willing to tell their parents yet. He’s not Viktor’s first crush, nor will he likely be the last, but he’s cute and he has a nice laugh. His name is Sasha.

The conversation started hours ago when Viktor asked about an algebra problem, and now Sasha is sending pictures of his poodle. Viktor’s heart melts a little more with each one, and he makes a mental note to beg his parents to get a dog.

_ I should probably go to bed,  _ writes Sasha, and Viktor frowns. 

_ Look at you, being responsible,  _ he teases back, and Sasha sends more poodle pictures. 

When Viktor finally agrees to go to sleep, he takes a deep breath and adds some heart emojis to his goodnight text. Then he panics, wondering if he’s read this four-hour texting conversation wrong. Sasha sends hearts back, and Viktor falls asleep feeling truly happy.

Sasha moves to Kazakhstan their freshman year. They promise to keep in touch, but they don’t. Viktor cuts his hair.

_ Get the baddest girls like they do in all the movies _

Everyone  _ loves _ Viktor’s new haircut. Sasha’s place at Viktor’s lunch table is taken by whichever group of girls can get there fastest. Yesterday someone had to go to the nurse’s office because they got punched in the face in the fight for the last seat. 

Viktor, for his part, doesn’t discourage it. He isn’t particularly interested in anyone—no one fills the small void in his chest that had once been filled by childhood friends and was recently filled by a boy now living in Kazakhstan—but they’re entertaining to watch.

“Viktor, how did you do on the math test?”

“Ew, he doesn’t want to talk about the math test! Viktor, you should come to my party on Saturday!”

“Do you want to go to lunch with me on Sunday?”

“No, you should go to lunch with  _ me _ on Sunday!”

Viktor smiles, laughs. In the end, he accepts someone’s lunch offer. He doesn’t remember her name.

_ Mama, I’m a— _

The workload is too much, and Viktor drops out of high school to focus on skating. 

He wins the Junior Championships at age seventeen, in Sofia, Bulgaria. He beats the American Stephen Carriere by just a few points, but it’s enough.

He buys a pink convertible, the most expensive one he can, and kisses his gold medal more times than his current girlfriend. 

_ And I don’t care ‘bout anything _

“You want to break up?” whispers his girlfriend, her eyes already starting to tear up. Viktor hesitates, considers lying and saying no, kissing her to stop the tears. 

“Yes,” he says instead.

“Why?” she asks, and he can hear the physical pain in her voice. He doesn’t understand it.  _ Isn’t it obvious why? _

“Because I don’t love you anymore,” he says simply, and flinches as she starts sobbing.

_ Play me hard, baby break my heart _

“He has a girlfriend, you know,” says someone standing next to Viktor. He startles, tearing his gaze away from the pretty barista boy. 

_ Shit. _

The man had never outright rejected his flirting, but maybe he figured Viktor was like that with everyone. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong. 

_ And here I was, trying to ask him out to lunch.  _ Viktor finishes his expensive latte, scowls into the cup, and leaves the coffee shop. He doesn’t come back.

_ Don’t need you, got a Visa _

“I feel like you don’t care about me anymore,” complains his most recent boyfriend. Viktor doesn’t bother responding.

“I want to break up,” his boyfriend adds. 

Viktor should probably feel sad, or embarrassed, or  _ something. _ Instead, he lets his eyes drift across the room, searching for anyone else who might catch his eye.

_ Swipe three times, it’ll take you far _

Maybe he’s lonely, maybe he’s just bored. Either way, Viktor buys a dog. He names him Makkachin, and quickly decides that he loves him more than any of the people in his life.

_ Wake up by a girl I don’t know _

At age twenty-four, Viktor sits up and considers the woman still asleep at his side. She’s probably a model, he guesses, given her perfect eyebrows and carefully sculpted face. Not a bad decision for last night, although he doesn’t have the slightest clue who she is.

He surveys the room. Considering the damage to the sheets and the floor, they had a pretty good time last night. He pauses for another moment, then stands up to put his clothes back on.

His shirt is wrinkled, and he frowns. He’ll have to sneak back into his own room without Yakov noticing, or he’ll get yelled at again.

He leaves without another glance at the girl.

_ Get a check, make it four _

Viktor is listening to a man flirt badly with him at a formal banquet when Yakov appears. “Vitya, there are sponsors that want to talk to you,” he grumbles, sounding annoyed but not at all surprised. Viktor nods, gives the man a wide smile and a promise to talk again later (he won’t), and follows Yakov.

Viktor hates talking to sponsors. More than anyone else, they  _ only  _ want him for his looks, his gold medals, his start of a winning streak that lead to his newest title, The Living Legend. Yet he forces another smile onto his face and pretends to listen as a small group ramble on and on about shampoo. He laughs politely at the right times.

_ Takin’ meds, take some more _

Viktor sits down at the bar. “I’ll take the strongest thing you’ve got.”

The bartender glances over, looking faintly concerned, but he nods anyways and gets to work.

_ Sick of sex, but I’m bored _

“Do you wanna...head back to my place?” slurs the man in his arms. 

No. Not particularly, no.

“Yes,” says Viktor, because he doesn’t have anything better to do.

_ Mama, I’m a rockstar _

Viktor is twenty-five years old, and he holds up his fourth Grand Prix Final gold. 

He can hear the applause, the cheering, the screams for “The Living Legend.” 

He has to remind himself to smile.

_ Mama, I’m a— _

Viktor looks down at his ringing phone, gold medal still hanging around his neck. He sits on one bed of the hotel room, and he’s spent the last half an hour frowning at the second, empty bed. He’s not sure why it bothers him, but it does. 

He answers the phone. “Hello?”

“Vitya,” whispers his mother, and he freezes. He hasn’t talked to her in…

“You haven’t visited in nine years,” she continues, her voice still a whisper. Viktor pauses, does the math. He moved in with Yakov at sixteen, right before he won the Junior Championship. Now he’s twenty-five, a stack of medals hanging in his closet. 

“Mama, I’m sorry,” he replies, and his words feel empty. He has to fight the nearly instinctive urge to laugh politely and make some excuse to hang up. He usually misses her calls by accident, but he never calls back.

“We watched your skate, Vitya, and it was  _ beautiful,” _ his mother says. Viktor thanks her, but it still feels empty. Everyone tells him that his skating is beautiful. Everyone tells him that  _ he _ is beautiful. 

“I know that you’re busy, but you should come visit soon,” his mother says.

“Of course, of course,” he agrees, and he can feel himself forcing his mouth into a smile even though she can’t see him.

He doesn’t visit.

_ Mama, I’m a _

Three weeks later, Viktor wins Russian Nationals for the sixth time in a row.

_ Rockstar _

In mid January, Viktor wins Europeans for the fourth time in a row.

_ Mama, I’m a _

In late January, Viktor wins the Four Continents for the fourth time in a row.

_ Ro-ro-ro-rockstar _

In February, Viktor wins gold at the Olympics.

_ Why do I try? Why do I try? _

For a year, Viktor does nothing but train. 

Logically, he could take it easier— no one is anywhere close to his world records. But he hasn’t been in a solid relationship since he was twenty-two, hardly ever answers his phone when his family calls. He lives without a roommate in an apartment in St. Petersburg, where his closest friend is his dog. 

He has rinkmates, but they aren’t really his friends. The redhead, Mila, is refreshing in that she doesn’t seem to fall for his fake smiles, but they aren’t exactly close. The young blonde Junior Champion, Yuri, doesn’t fall for Viktor’s smiles either, but he doesn’t seem to like anyone. 

Viktor goes to all of Yakov’s practices, but he also trains alone whenever he has the chance. It’s easier to skate when he doesn’t have to smile, doesn’t have to worry about impressing others or his reputation.

_ Stamni Vicino _ is what he’s currently working on, although he hasn’t told Yakov yet. He skates late into the night, wondering what it would feel like to be this deeply in love with someone, trying to incorporate the emotions into his routine. It falls flat every time, because he doesn’t know how to love anymore. 

He goes to a bar and goes home with a woman. He doesn’t learn anything new about love.

_ I’m sick in my room, _

Viktor doesn’t watch movies often, but he half-remembers one quote, with no memory about what it’s from. It was a concept about how when you die, rather than leaving your body your soul instead folds in on itself, becomes smaller and smaller until it can’t control your body anymore. 

If that’s the case, maybe Viktor is already dead.

_ Sick in my room _

Makkachin paws at Viktor’s leg as he lies, curled in on himself. When Viktor doesn’t respond, Makka whines.

“I know, boy. I’m sorry.” Viktor runs his fingers through the poodle’s soft fur, silently thanking the universe that he still has Makka through all this. Makkachin and skating. Nothing else matters anymore. 

He has the flu, according to Yakov, and therefore is banned from the skating rink. All Viktor knows is that everything hurts even more than normal, and that he’s currently banned from one half of the things he cares about. He keeps petting Makka, holding on to his only true companion.

Makka’s fur is starting to get damp, and Viktor pauses for a moment in confusion. It takes a moment for him to realize that the dampness is coming from tears dripping down his own face, and suddenly he’s laughing, a pained laugh that hurts his throat even more than the flu did. He hasn’t cried in years. Makka whines again, curling closer.

“I’m sorry, boy,” he whispers to the poodle. “Papa is sick.” 

Sick of everything, more like. 

_ Mama, _

Viktor performs  _ Stamni Vicino _ , still lacking in emotion, and wins at Skate Canada with a new world record. 

_ I’m a _

He wins again at the Rostelecom Cup. People gaze in wonder at his performance, at his perfect quad flip and his technique. 

No one seems to notice how empty the performance is. 

_ Rockstar _

He wins his fifth consecutive Grand Prix gold medal. 

_ Mama, I’m a— _

At the banquet, Viktor talks to sponsors until his head starts to ache, then he politely excuses himself with some bullshit excuse and a painful smile. He’s considering leaving the entire banquet when Chris grabs his arm. 

“Viktor,  _ look.” _

Viktor turns, and watches a small Asian man down what appears to be his sixteenth glass of champagne. He opens his mouth to ask Chris a question, such as why no one has stopped the poor man yet, when suddenly the man is stumbling over towards where they stand. 

Viktor watches him, trying to decide whether or not now is a good time to go back to his room. Before he’s given the option, though, the man lunges forward and points at Yuri Plisetsky, who happened to be standing nearby. 

“You, me, dance off!” 

Viktor stares in shock. He continues to stare in shock as Yuri accepts his challenge and the two of them move to the center of the room, the man laughing loudly as they clear the space. 

“Who is he?” Viktor finds himself asking aloud, eyes glued to the two.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” replies Chris. “Japan’s Ace.”

Viktor nods slowly, filing this information away. This is a name he’s not going to forget. After a moment of hesitation, he pulls out his phone to record.

Before he knows it, Yuuri has won the dance off and challenged Chris to a  _ pole dancing competition,  _ which he promptly wins. Viktor has absolutely no idea what to make of this Japanese man, but he can feel his mouth curling into a grin despite himself. And it feels so different from his media face, from the way he smirks for fans and smiles for sponsors. Laughter bubbles out of his chest, emotions spilling out that he hasn’t felt in years. 

It feels like the first time he watched a figure skater fly through the air, the first time he stepped onto the ice himself, the first time he landed a jump. He feels  _ young, _ and there are so many feelings that he can’t even begin to identify.

_ If he can dance like this after sixteen glasses of champagne, what can he do on skates? _

Apparently satisfied with his pole dancing win, Yuuri now approaches Viktor. His own face is a grin to mirror Viktor’s own, and as he approaches Viktor realizes that  _ oh, he’s really cute. _

His brown eyes are wide as he rambles in Japanese, and Viktor opens his mouth to explain that he doesn’t speak Japanese when Yuuri lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Viktor. 

It’s as if Viktor’s vision is suddenly clearer, all of his senses sharpened. As if he’s finally awake after a long slumber. Every color is brighter— the horrid blue of the tie that somehow ended up on Yuuri’s head, the gold of the chandelier sparkling overhead, the rich brown of Yuuri’s eyes. The room is quiet, but Yuuri’s voice is loud, sharp, clear.

“Be my coach, Viktor!”

Viktor can feel the oxygen rush out of his body as he stares, stares at Yuuri’s long eyelashes and warm brown eyes and wide smile and that god awful tie. Viktor stares, and then he starts to laugh. 

Yuuri’s arms are warm against his back, and Viktor is way more touch starved than he ever realized. He can feel eyes all over the room staring at them, judging and whispering and taking pictures, and that makes Viktor laugh even harder. He isn’t entirely sure why he’s laughing— there’s nothing particularly funny, but he suddenly feels  _ alive, _ feels  _ happy,  _ and he wants to stay here, alive in Yuuri’s arms forever. Yuuri frowns, probably thinking that Viktor is laughing at him, but Viktor wraps his own arms around Yuuri and drags him onto the dance floor. 

It’s like the first time he won a competition, the first time he landed a quad. But it’s also like playing with friends he hasn’t seen since childhood, it’s the same giddy feeling he hasn’t felt since a night many, many years ago, texting heart emojis to a crush.

They easily settle into a waltz, and then Yuuri dips him and Viktor gasps aloud as the floor vanishes and the only thing he can see are Yuuri’s eyes and his wide smile.

_ This,  _ Viktor thinks,  _ is what it’s like to live. _

_ I said Mama, I’m a rockstar _

_ I’ma drive a sports car _

_ I’ma be on tv _

_ See me on the Forbes chart _

_ Mama, I’m a rockstar _

_ Stay out ‘til the moon sleeps _

_ Get the baddest girls like they do in all the movies _

_ Mama, I’m a— _

**Author's Note:**

> Me: okay let’s make the whole thing angsty and sad  
> Sochi banquet: yes, but consider


End file.
